


let dreamers dream what worlds they please

by evewithanapple



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Colonialism, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evewithanapple/pseuds/evewithanapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fleur meets a new girl and learns things Ninon didn't teach her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Christine for the beta! The rating is T for this chapter (for discussions of slavery/colonialism) and M for the next one (for the abovementioned, and also a sex scene.)
> 
> Also, there is a [soundtrack](http://8tracks.com/evewithanapple/a-first-glance-feeling).
> 
> And now there's [art](http://wizords.tumblr.com/post/84798391107/got-commissioned-by-the-impeccable-ladysaviours-to)! By the ever-talented Hayley.

Fleur had been attempting to pay attention for the past hour, but she found it more difficult than she had anticipated. Her new classroom was a small chamber on the upstairs level of a merchant’s house, and her teacher a middle-aged widow who had taken it upon herself to open a small school for the daughters of the middle class. Fleur supposed she ought to be grateful for the opportunity; she _is_ grateful, though mostly for the fact that she’s managed to escape marriage and childbearing thus far. But her new teacher is no Ninon; rather than encouraging discussion among her pupils, she sits them in chairs and instructs them to copy down information from their books until they have it memorized. Talking is strictly forbidden, unless they are answering a question posed to them by Madame Joubert. She’s grateful for the opportunity to continue learning, knows it’s something she couldn’t have expected without these classes- but there’s only so many pages Fleur can copy out before she wants to fall asleep over her workbook.

At that precise moment, she was distracted by the sight of a woman standing across the street from the Joubert house. Fleur had happened to glance up and out the window almost two hours earlier, and noticed a young woman standing beneath the awning of the neighbouring house, hugging her shawl close around her shoulders. It had been pouring rain since Fleur woke that morning, and the weather hadn’t abated since she’d arrived for class; she could see the woman’s hair curling damply against her arms, the sodden tassels of her shawl drooping towards the ground. At first, Fleur had simply taken notice that she was there and gone back to her work; but she’d finished her copying for the day (a selection from _The Education of a Christian Woman_ ; not edifying in the slightest) she had looked out the window again and spotted the same woman, still shivering in the rain. She wanted to hurry across the street and invite her into the classroom, but as she was still forbidden from speaking, she couldn’t ask to be excused. So for the remaining hour of class, she gazed out the window, wondering why this woman would choose to stand there for hours, in the freezing rain, rather than seeking shelter indoors.

“You may stop,” Madame Joubert announced, and Fleur closed her workbook with a sigh of relief. “Give your books to me as you leave, and I will evaluate them and tell you tomorrow how well you have done.”

Fleur didn’t need telling twice; she hastily thrust her book at Madame Joubert, who made a disapproving sound, and picked her skirts up, hurrying out the door. The other girls were still milling around the room, making quiet conversation, but she was in a rush to see if the woman across the street was still there. Perhaps she was a beggar; if so, Fleur had a handful of pocket money from her father that she could give her. If not, she could at least learn why she had spent the morning out in the rain.

As she burst out the front doors of the Joubert house, she saw that the woman was still standing there, and hurried across the street. “Excuse me!” she called. “Mademoiselle, aren’t you cold out here? There’s room indoors, if you need to take shelter.”

The woman turned towards her, eyebrow raised. Now that she was standing in front of her, Fleur could see that she wasn’t that much older than Fleur herself; a few years, at most. Her skin was brown and flecked with freckles, and her dress was a plain woolen blue that hung from her frame as though it had originally been made for someone else.

“Thank you,” she said, “but I was instructed to wait here. I can’t move from my post.” Despite her words, there was irony in her tone. Whoever has instructed her, Fleur thought, she couldn’t like them overmuch. She could hardly blame her.

“Surely whoever asked you to wait couldn’t mean that you had to stand in the rain,” Fleur protested. The other girl smiled at her in a way that suddenly made her feel very young. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what they meant. In fact-” She lifted her gaze to point over Fleur’s shoulder. “Here they are now.”

Fleur turned to look and saw one of her classmates, Athénaïs, bearing down on them with a frown forming between her eyebrows. “Louise, what are you doing?”

The other girl- Louise- sighed, gesturing to Fleur. “Your friend asked me a question. I was only being polite.”

“Hmph.” Athénaïs turned to Fleur, her expression turning sickly sweet. “You don’t want to converse with her, Mademoiselle Baudin. She’s just the maidservant.”

“But-” Fleur began, before Louise silenced her with a kick to her shin. Athénaïs smiled pityingly. “You’ll learn these things as you get older, mademoiselle. You oughtn’t be seen in conversation with the help.” Dismissing Fleur, she turned to Louise and snapped her fingers. “Bring the parasol. I’ve already gotten wet.” Her hair was barely damp from her hasty walk from the Joubert house to their side of the street, but Fleur- upon glancing at Louise- thought better of pointing it out. Louise stepped obediently out from under the awning, holding the parasol over Athénaïs’ head and becoming even more drenched in the process. “As you please.”

Fleur watched them go, feeling the corners of her mouth turn down. Just before they turned the corner at the end of the street, Louise turned back towards her, glanced at Athénaïs, and made an extremely rude gesture with her free hand.

Fleur covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

* * *

The girls in Fleur’s class came from different walks of life, though none of them were members of the nobility. There were several like Fleur, who attended only by the indulgence of their merchant fathers and who could only barely afford to pay Madame Joubert. Then there were others, like Athénaïs, whose families had been comfortably in funds for generations and could afford to indulge their whims by attending class. Those girls rarely lasted long before deciding that they could find more entertaining ways to spend their time. Fleur tried very hard not to resent them for it. There had been wealthy girls- even noble girls- at Ninon’s, careless with their prosperity, but most had had the decency to not flaunt their good fortune in front of the students who had less. Athénaïs and her friends appeared to have no such compunction. Besides, the way she spoke to Louise rankled; Fleur attended classes, but she also helped her father bring in money sewing shirts for clients whose pay helped them keep a roof over their heads. If her classmates knew, they’d probably refer to _her_ as “the help”. So it didn’t surprise her when she arrived at Madame Joubert’s house the next day and found Athénaïs giggling with her friends and whispering behind her hands when Fleur entered. Also in the room with her was Madame Joubert, looking like a thundercloud.

“ _Mademoiselle Baudin_ ,” she began, and Fleur cringed in anticipation. “Mademoiselle Delacroix has informed me that you were in conversation yesterday with her maidservant. I hope you understand that I intend to instill good breeding and propriety among you ladies as well as knowledge. You must understand what such niceties demand.”

“I do,” Fleur said meekly, sliding into her chair. Her seatmate gave her a sympathetic look, knocking their elbows together. “I’ll conduct myself better in the future.” Privately, she wondered what good an education was if they were only meant to use it in proper ways. Hadn’t Ninon told them that they had to look beyond the ways they’d been taught to behave? Now, more than ever, Fleur missed the salon.

“You had better,” Madame Joubert said darkly. She dropped Fleur’s workbook on the table in front of her. “Now open the book to yesterday’s work. There are corrections to be made.”

Fleur wasn’t sure if the previous day’s misstep had influenced the way her work was being evaluated, but Madame Joubert kept at her for half an hour, ticking off every misshapen letter and incorrect piece of punctuation before moving on to the next student. Finally given a respite, Fleur glanced out the window again. There was no sign of Louise. Perhaps Athénaïs had sent her to wait somewhere else, to avoid contaminating the students again. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth.

But when the day’s work was done- it seemed to drag on even more than usual, though she supposed that might just be because of her newfound dislike of her classmate- and she left the building, she was stopped in her tracks by a soft hissing sound. “Mademoiselle!”

Fleur stopped and looked around. A familiar brown face, smiling mischievously, was peering around the corner of the house. She reached a hand out and gestured for Fleur to come closer. “Quickly, before someone sees!”

Fleur, too startled to do otherwise, took the offered hand and let Louise pull her around the corner. The other girl’s smile had grown no less mischievous, but there was something contrite in her expression as well. “Fleur Baudin, isn’t it?” She continued when Fleur nodded, “I apologize if Athénaïs got you into trouble after yesterday. She’s-” Her mouth twisted. “-any number of words I shouldn’t be using in polite company. I’m sorry.”

Fleur, startled, laughed a little. She’d never heard someone speak so frankly about a girl of Athénaïs’ breeding before. “You don’t need to be sorry. She’s the one who caused the trouble.” She paused. “Did she really insist you wait across the street in the rain?”

“‘And don’t dare move an _inch_ ,’” Louise said, mimicking Athénaïs’ high-pitched voice. “She’s petty like that. I imagine you’ve noticed.”

Fleur thought back to sitting next to the other girl in class, watching her pinch her seatmate when she thought no one was looking. “It’s difficult not to.” Louise smiled at her, open-mouthed, and she smiled back. “It’s a shame you can’t come up to learn with us. You’d probably be a far better student than her anyway.”

Louise made a scoffing noise, tossing her head. “I doubt my aunt and uncle would ever let me. Besides, I don’t have any wish to. I don’t need an old woman with a room full of books to tell me how the world works.”

Fleur was about to comment on the second half of her reply when the first half caught up to her. “Your- your aunt and uncle?”

Louise sighed. “Athénaïs is my cousin, though-” she spread her arms wide, gesturing to herself. “-I know I hardly look it. But as the impoverished relative, I’m forced to earn my keep. Hence my title. Or lack thereof”

Fleur shook her head, frowning. “It hardly seems fair that you should have to work when you’re related to them. After all, you’re-” She stopped, unsure of how to finish her sentence.

“Of good breeding? Or old money?” Louise rolled her eyes. “Would it truly be a better thing if they employed me because I was the by-blow of a cook and a seamstress? Either way, I would still be left standing out in the rain. Besides, it would hardly make a difference. No matter where I can trace my lineage, it doesn’t much matter when you look like me.”

“I think you look beautiful,” Fleur said, then blushed to the roots of her hair, knowing instinctively that she’d said the wrong thing. But Louise just laughed, and fondly touched the side of her face. “You’re a very sweet girl. Ill-suited to sit in class with my cousin.” She glanced around. “I’d like to continue this conversation, but I suspect Athénaïs will come looking for me at any moment. May we agree to meet again tomorrow?”

“I’d love to,” Fleur said immediately. Louise smiled, delighted. “Then meet me again here, tomorrow, after your class lets out. And-” She leaned closer, and on instinct, Fleur did too. “-try to make sure you have the rest of the afternoon free. I think I’ll be able to sneak away, if you can.” With a wink, she turned and walked back around the corner, leaving Fleur hugging herself with delight. 

* * *

 

Fleur wasn’t sure what to take with her to meet Louise again, but she thought she shouldn’t go empty-handed. While preparing herself to leave for class, she packed her remaining pocket money into a small purse, thinking that she could buy them both a sweet bun, if Louise wanted to. She also, on an afterthought, added one of Ninon’s pamphlets to the bag. Perhaps Louise might like to borrow it. When she was done filling her purse, she turned to the selection of dresses she had on hand, which were admittedly not many. She had two dresses for everyday, and a deep violet one which was normally kept reserved for Sundays and holidays. Louise had already seen her in the two everyday ones, but her hand hesitated as it hovered over the Sunday dress. She’d need to find some way of explaining to her father why she was wearing her best clothes for class, and she doubted very much that he would accept “meeting a friend” as an acceptable excuse. Still, she’d been told she looked nice in the violet.

When she came down the stairs, settled in her best dress, her father raised his eyebrows. “Are you going somewhere unusual?”

Fleur had prepared her answer before descending. “Madame Joubert has invited a distinguished scholar to come and visit us today. I thought I should wear my best for him.” She put the slightest bit of emphasis on _him_ , hoping that the dangled prospect of a suitor would cut off any further questions. She’d been right. Her father nodded approvingly. “I’m glad to see you take an interest in your future, my girl.”

Fleur fairly rushed out the door before he noticed the pamphlet sticking out of her bag.

Class dragged by, as it had the day before, and Fleur was reprimanded several times for squirming in her seat. Her dress also garnered a few comments, most notably by Athénaïs, who smiled sickly sweet at her and complimented her “aspirations.” On an ordinary day, Fleur would have had to bite the inside of her cheek so as to avoid snapping back; today she only smiled and thanked Athénaïs for noticing, leaving the other girl scowling in confusion. Nothing was going to spoil her mood.

When class was dismissed at last, Fleur hurried out the door, clutching her purse tightly against her chest. When she reached the door, she stepped outside, then stopped to look around. The street was bustling, as usual, with merchants and housewives seeking goods and groceries, but there were no familiar faces among the crowd. She craned her neck to peer up and down the street. No sign. Had she forgotten? Or had Athénaïs sent her away to keep her from getting into more conversations with Fleur? Her heart stuttered erratically in her chest.

“Will you _move_?” one of her classmates said from behind her, and Fleur stepped to the side to let her pass. As she turned her head, she finally spotted Louise’s face peering at her from across the street. The other girl grinned and waved; Fleur waved back, then picked up her skirts and ran to meet her.

“Did you think I’d forgotten?” Louise asked as soon as Fleur had reached her. Fleur shook her head, knowing her face had already given her away. “I’m sorry about that. I got to stay behind today because I told my aunt that I needed to catch up on the mending. It took me longer than I thought to slip away.”

“If you’re caught, won’t you be in trouble?” Fleur asked.

Louise shrugged. “Probably. But I won’t get caught.” She looked Fleur up and down, smiling slowly. “Your dress looks nice.”

Fleur felt herself blush hotly. “Thank you.” Louise was wearing the same blue dress she’d worn on the day they met. “Yours does too.”

Louise shook her head, chuckling. “It doesn’t, but it’s nice of you to say. It belonged to my cousin before she decided it was out of fashion.” She linked her arm through Fleur’s. “Come, let’s walk.”

Fleur fell into step beside her. “I did mean it- about the dress.” Louise raised her eyebrows, and Fleur amended her sentence. “That is- you look nice in it.”

“It doesn’t fit.”

“I could fix that,” Fleur said, as the idea struck her. “I sew for a living. If you could come to my house one day with the dress, I could take it in for you, and-”

Louise was already shaking her head. “I’d never be able to get away that long. Besides, my aunt would notice. And I couldn’t pay you.”

“I wouldn’t ask for money!” Fleur said, unaccountably stung. “I’d just like to help.”

“And I’d like to be able to pay for my clothes.” Louise shrugged. “We can’t have everything we want.”

“We can try,” Fleur said stubbornly. What had Ninon said- _you are only limited by the extent of your imagination_? She’d written something similar in the pamphlet she’d brought with her. With her free hand, Fleur drew it out of her purse. “I brought something for you. To read.”

Louise took it, eyes scanning the front page. “What is it?”

“A pamphlet,” Fleur said, allowing a note of pride to creep into her voice. “My old teacher wrote it. It’s about women liberating themselves from bondage.”

“From _bondage_?” Louise’s eyebrows rose up underneath her hairline. “What bondage did your teacher labour under? Not much, if she was able to have her writings printed like this.”

Fleur’s face stung as though she’d been slapped. “Cardinal Richelieu had her brought to trial for witchcraft.”

“Ohhhh.” Louise’s gaze had dropped down to the bottom of the frontpiece, where Ninon’s name was printed. “Your teacher was Ninon de Larroque? I heard my uncle speak of her, when she went to trial.” She snorted lightly. “He wasn’t very flattering.” She handed the pamphlet back to Fleur. “Thank you, but I don’t think her works would have much to teach me. I’ve known too much bondage to be freed from it by a pamphlet.”

They came to a bench on the boulevard, and Louise sank down on it, pulling Fleur with her. Fleur looked sidelong at her friend, wondering what bondage she was referring to. Her aunt and uncle? “Is that why you said earlier that you didn’t have anything to learn in a classroom? Forgive me, but I-” She wet her lips, trying to find the right words. “I fought so hard to learn. I couldn’t imagine giving it up.”

Louise smiled kindly at her. “I’m sure you did. But- and please, correct me if I’m wrong- you’ve spent your life in Paris, have you not? All you know of the world is the city.”

“Not quite,” Fleur said, knowing she sounded slightly ridiculous. “I grew up just outside the city. We only came here last year.”

“But you were born and raised in France.” Fleur nodded. “Would you like to know where I was raised?” Louise leaned closer, so she was speaking directly into Fleur’s ear. “My mother was born in Sainte-Christophe, in the West Indies, when the Spanish still ruled. She bore me there, to a French soldier who came to claim the land for your King Louis. Our French lords were little better than our Spanish ones, but she reared me to speak Spanish because her mother had learned it from her mistress.”

Fleur hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she let it out. “You were- that is, your mother-”

“Slaves?” Louise said dryly. “No; my grandmother’s mistress was fond enough of her that she granted her freedom after she died. My mother’s family were indentured servants. It wasn’t much more of a pleasant life than slavery, to hear my _abuelita_ tell it, but we had rooms of our own.” Her eyes darkened. “And then one day when I was eight, my father came to see us- he did it rarely enough, you’d think he would have forgotten where we lived between visits- and announced that he was taking me away to France to be raised by good people. Good people!” She laughed harshly. “And he picked me up and carried me off without another word, no matter how loudly my mother cried. I haven’t see Sainte-Christophe since.”

She fell silent. Fleur felt as though she ought to say something, but couldn’t think of what. “I’m sorry” was what she came up with, knowing it was horribly inadequate.

“ _You_ didn’t bring me to France,” Louise said, low and dark. “My father did. So I came here to learn a new language, a new life. And every night at supper, my aunt and uncle and cousin fold their hands and pray for the health of good King Louis and his Spanish wife. Whichever one I should thank for my existence, I don’t know.” She sighed, tipping her head back up to look at the clouds. “So you see now why I don’t wish to learn of bondage from a Frenchwoman who’s known nothing of it. And why I’d rather not take lessons from those who pray for the life of your king. I know where I came from. I don’t wish to hear it from someone who doesn’t understand.”

Fleur stared at Louise- not because she was confused, but because she felt that after being confided in thusly, she ought not to look away. “I’m so-” She cleared her throat. “I know my apologies don’t mean anything to you. But I’m sorry you’ve suffered so. I would help you, if I knew how.”

“It means you’re kind enough to care.” Louise said. “Which doesn’t mean much, in the grander scale of things. Half your country ought to be begging forgiveness from my mother and grandmother. But at least you realize it.” She paused. “You’d like to help?”

Fleur nodded.

“There is one thing.” She leaned closer, holding both of Fleur’s hands in hers’. “You’re a student, yes? You want to learn new things. How would you like to learn Spanish?”

It took Fleur a moment to realize what she was proposing. “I would love to.”

“It’s a small thing.” Louise half-shrugged, smiling lopsidedly. “But I haven’t had anyone to converse in my mother tongue with for a long time. I miss it.”

Fleur clutched her hands tightly. “I’ll do anything to ease the load.”

Louise rolled her eyes, but there was affection to it. “You don’t need to swear to lay your life down for me. But our lessons can begin soon, if you like.”

“I’d love to,” Fleur said immediately.

* * *

If Louise was caught for slipping away, she never mentioned it to Fleur. They met whenever one or both of them could manage it, sneaking away from chores and errands to steal a few moments over the workbook Fleur had bought for the task. Louise herself didn’t have much use for the book; she was more interested in teaching Fleur to speak the words aloud. But Fleur found she learned better when she was reading, so she wrote down everything Louise told her.

“One word first,” Louise said to her, smiling. “And it’s not really a word, it’s a name. Luisa.”

“Luisa,” Fleur repeated. “That’s Spanish for your name?”

“It _is_ my name,” Luisa corrected her. “It’s what my mother called me. They changed it when I came here so that I would seem more French.”

Fleur rolled the word around in her mouth. _Luisa_. It seemed lighter and smoother than Louise. “It suits you.”

“I’ve always thought so,” Luisa said, grinning. “Now proper words: for that book in your hands, _libro_ or _cuaderno_. . .”

Spanish, Fleur discovered quickly, was similar to French in many ways, and she was adept at languages. She proceeded in leaps and bounds, until she was able to converse in small, halting sentences. Her poor grammar didn’t seem to bother Luisa; she laughed with delight the first time Fleur introduced herself in Spanish.

“ _Hola Flor; mi nombre es Luisa_ ,” she said. “Do you know, your name just means ‘flower’ in Spanish? I’ve never met anyone named Flor.”

“My mother named me,” Fleur said. “She used to say I looked like a daisy.”

“She wasn’t wrong,” Luisa said, and she kissed Fleur’s cheek. Fleur felt a glow begin in her chest, and hastily reminded herself not to get her hopes up. Even if Luisa was like her (and that was something she had only recently begun to consider in earnest; finding others who shared her feelings seemed an insurmountable task) that didn’t mean she looked on her _that_ fondly. “ _¿Cómo te va?_ ”

“ _Estoy bien, gracias._ ” Fleur replied. And they continued as they had before.

As her lessons progressed, and her skills grew stronger, they sometimes deviated from the lessons to talk about other things. They told each other stories about their childhoods; Fleur’s had been one of relative leisure, though there’d always been work to do, and Luisa hugged her memories of her early years close. Luisa told her of Sainte-Christophe, where everything had been painted in bright colours (the ocean, she swore, was a shade of blue she’d never seen in all her years in France) and the air had been sweltering, even in the shade. Fleur felt that her own stories paled in comparison- what were descriptions of the Parisian suburbs to someone who had lived in the city for years?- but Luisa asked, so she shared tales of crowded streets and the smell of the dirt roads when rain hit, and seeing livestock wandering the avenue outside her house.

“I was nearly run down by a pig once,” she said. “I was only three or four, and it was fleeing from some boys who’d been pelting it with stones. It came galloping down the street you wouldn’t believe how fast such a creature can gallop until you see it- and I was crouched down playing in front of my house and didn’t see it. I only avoided being trampled because my mother came out of the door and whisked me out of the way.”

Luisa laughed, then grew sombre. “You remember her well? Your mother?”

Fleur casts her mind back. “Not as well as I would like.” Her mother had passed away when she was ten years old, leaving her with a series of half-formed scrap memories that never seemed to quite fit together. “She looked like me, mostly. My father says I have her hair and mouth, but his eyes and my grandfather’s chin. She liked to fill the house with flowers. I remember that.” Lilies, most often; she’d crowned her daughter’s head with them, and carried her down the street for May Day. There’d also been dog roses in the kitchen, and sprigs of lavender that tucked in with the bedclothes to keep them smelling fresh.

“My mother liked flowers too,” Luisa said. She sat back on her elbows, stretching her legs out in front of her. “But they were a different variety than you know, I suspect. Bright red and orange poincianas and purple orchids. Every way you turned, there was a different colour.” Her expression turned wistful. “I’d like to see orchids again, but they could never bloom in France. The weather would kill them.”

“You could keep them indoors,” Fleur said.

Luisa laughed. “You have an idea for everything, don’t you? Whenever someone says a thing can’t be done, you’ve got a million reasons why it can.”

“Not a million,” Fleur said, unsure as to whether or not she was being laughed at. “Just the one.”

“And it’s one more than most people would think of.” Luisa reached out and ran a hand down Fleur’s cheek. Fleur felt the blood rise in her face again and fought to keep herself from showing her hand too obviously. “I admire that about you. I don’t know whether to call it bravery or stubbornness, but you don’t let anyone tell you what is and isn’t possible.”

“And you _do_?” Fleur said. “You’ve snuck away from your aunt and uncle to give a stranger lessons in Spanish just because you felt like it. I’m not half as brave as you.”

“Well I only teach you because I like you.” Luisa tipped her head back, smiling broadly. “And isn’t that just a form of selfishness? Doing what you wish and damn the consequences?”

Fleur chewed on her bottom lip. “Bravery can mean doing something selfish. My teacher- Ninon- said that if one person lead the way, a hundred more would follow. Maybe we’re the ones leading the way. If you- we- do what we want and others follow, aren’t we being brave?”

“I suppose that’s the difference between us, then.” Luisa rolled her shoulders, massaging out a kink in her neck. “You see the world as something that can be made new. I see it as something to be made the best of.”

“It can be both,” Fleur said.

Luisa shrugged. “Like I said, I like you. But I don’t know that you’re right.”

Fleur felt her smile grow from ear to ear. “I’m just glad you like me.”

Luisa reached out and took Fleur’s small hand in hers’. Her palm was warm, fingers callused and strong. They sat there in the sunshine for several long moments, enjoying the quiet.

“I wish you didn’t have to go back to your aunt and uncle,” Fleur said finally. “I wish you could come and stay with me instead. My father isn’t a gentle man, but he would let you sleep as much as you needed and eat at the table with us.” _And we could spend all our time together_ she thought but didn’t say. Perhaps Luisa was right; what they did was equal parts bravery and selfishness.

Luisa touched her cheek again, brushing away a stray lock of hair. “I would leave with you in a heartbeat, if I could.”

“Why can’t you?”

The other girl sighed. “My aunt and uncle maintain that I owe them services in exchange for room and board. I would dispute them in the courts, but they have money and a good name to back them up. All I have is my word. It’s not enough.”

“Your father?” Fleur asked. Luisa made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Died at sea when I was thirteen. And he paid little attention to my welfare before that. Bringing me to France was his one act of paternal interest.” She snorted. “For all the good it’s done me.”

“It’s not right,” Fleur said helplessly. She wished she could offer Luisa something- anything- that could help her escape from her aunt and uncle and Athénaïs. But she’d learned after offering to alter the dress that her friend spurned anything that smelled of charity, even when it was offered in a spirit of friendship. And she was no lawyer. She didn’t know any lawyers. She knew some of the King’s musketeers, vaguely, through Constance, but what help would they be? They couldn’t fight the likes of the gentry. Most of them were as poor as Fleur herself.

“Never mind,” Luisa said, squeezing her hand tightly. “Someday I’ll sneak away for a night, and we can share a bed and keep ourselves awake in conversation until daybreak. Until then, we can content ourselves with this.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be content with just this.” The words were out of Fleur’s mouth before she could stop them, and as soon as they left, she felt her face and the back of her neck burning scalding hot. She hadn’t meant to say so much, but the picture Luisa had painted was so beautiful, she’d forgotten herself. “That is- I mean-”

“I know what you mean,” Luisa said. “I feel the same way. But that’s always how it is, isn’t it? The likes of us have to content ourselves with what moments we can steal.”

 _The likes of us_. Surely she didn’t mean- but no, she couldn’t. It couldn’t be that simple, that easy. “I don’t call it stealing,” she said cautiously. “Surely it’s only stealing if it’s something we aren’t entitled to? I think we’re entitled to be happy.”

“Entitled,” Luisa said, musing. “ _En-titled_ \- it sounds as though it should mean having a title, being one of the lucky ones. We don’t, and we’re not. But if we decided that we ought to and declared ourselves duchesses tomorrow, would that make it true? Your king surely wouldn’t think so.”

Fleur bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t think the King knows everything.”

“And on that, we are in agreement,” Luisa kissed her cheek, then paused. Something bright and beaming was hovering in the air between them, and Fleur felt as if trying to catch it would make it fly away. But she couldn’t bear to just leave it as it was. “Luisa?”

“Mmmm,” the other girl said. For the first time, she looked as though she felt uncertain. “Fleur?”

“Yes?”

“Would you be angry with me if I kissed you just now?”

Fleur’s heart was thumping violently against her throat, but it wasn’t painful. Whatever this was, it was the opposite of pain. “No. But I think I’d be angry if you didn’t.”

“I would never wish to make you angry,” Luisa said. She looked up and down the street, and Fleur looked with her, making sure there was no one who could spy what they were doing and raise the alarm. Satisfied that they were alone, she leaned forward and caught Fleur’s mouth with hers.

It was chaste at first- or at least, what Fleur assumed to be chaste, having very little experience to compare it to. But then Luisa sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, and any thoughts of chastity flew from her mind. The other girl’s mouth was warm and wet and seemed to be drawing Fleur’s breath into her; she felt as though she was scrambling to keep up, but it was the furthest thing in the world from unpleasant. Fleur locked her hands around the nape of Luisa’s neck, both to keep herself steady and to make sure she didn’t do anything rash like dive for the buttons on her dress and throw her clothes aside in the middle of a public street. Impulsively- she’d heard of it being done, but never done it herself- she pressed the tip of her tongue to Luisa’s mouth, and the other girl instantly opened her lips to let her in. She tasted like honey and the sticky sweet buns they’d eaten for lunch, and it was so _good_. Fleur hadn’t known it was possible to feel this good.

Luisa pulled away, and Fleur made an unhappy noise in her throat. Luisa looked no less regretful, passing her tongue over her lips as if she wanted to taste the last traces of Fleur’s mouth on hers’. “I don’t want to stop,” she said. There was a hitch in her breath. “But I’m afraid if we continue on like this, we won’t be able to stop.”

Fleur’s impulse was to say “good” and take Luisa’s face in her hands; she didn’t want to stop. But she recognized the wisdom in what she was saying. If they carried on, their hands would begin to wander, or someone would come down the street and see them, and that would be an end of that. If they adjourned to someplace more private, they could go further- much further. Fleur felt an involuntary shiver pass through her. “Is your room-”

“No,” Luisa said. “It’s connected to Athénaïs’, and she comes in without knocking whenever she wants something. Yours?”

“No,” Fleur said, regretful “The walls are thin; my father would hear us.” What would her father think, if he could see her now? Nothing good. Fleur found she didn’t care a bit.

Luisa sighed in frustration, running a hand through her windblown hair. “There must be _some_ place.”

An idea struck Fleur. “I know someone,” she said slowly. “She might let us stay at her house for a night. But it would have to be when her husband was away.” Constance, of all people, would be sympathetic to them. She’d been the one who let Fleur go to Ninon’s in the first place. And she wouldn’t tell Fleur’s father. A reckless sort of hope swept through her. She’d never done anything this daring before- sneaking away to classes paled in comparison- but she’d also never done anything that made her feel more alive, or more loved.

Luisa looked at her, half-cautious, half-hopeful. “When can we?”

“As soon as possible,” Fleur said. “I’ll go to her house and ask her tonight.” She was almost certain Constance would say yes, and then Luisa would come and then- ? She wouldn’t let herself think beyond that. It was too much.

“Tell me tomorrow,” Luisa said, and kissed her cheek. Fleur wished she could do more, but understood why she couldn’t. “I can slip away after dark- once  Athénaïs falls asleep, she won’t wake up again until the morning. And then- well. Then.”

Fleur beamed.

* * *

 

“Constance?” Fleur slid into the seat across from her. “I have a favour to ask.”

Constance looked up in surprise. She’d been writing in an account book, and barely glanced up when Fleur had arrived. “What can I do for you?”

Fleur leaned across the table, biting her lip. She was confident Constance wouldn’t object or go to her father, but now that the moment was here, she wasn’t quite sure how to explain what she needed. “I- that is, a friend and I- need to stay here. Just for a night.”

Constance raised her eyebrow, and pushed the ledger to one side. “Do I know this friend of yours?”

Fleur felt herself turning slightly pink. “No, she- she’s from my class.” It was true in its own way; she _had_ met Luisa because she’d been going to class, and she and Luisa _had_ been taking lessons together. She was just leaving out the illegitimate nature of the lessons for expediency’s sake.

“Mmhmm,” Constance said, folding her arms. “And why exactly can’t the two of you stay at your father’s house? Or hers’?”

Fleur squirmed a bit under her steady gaze. “She doesn’t really . . . her family wouldn’t approve. Nor would my father.”

“I see,” Constance said. Her voice was neutral; Fleur couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “And what, pray tell, would you be doing, at my house, at night?” The corner of her mouth curved slightly.

“Um.” Fleur said.

Constance laughed lightly. “This friend of yours- what’s her name? You did say it was a her, yes?”

“It’s her,” Fleur said. “Luisa.”

“Luisa.” Constance repeated. “Well, if you and Luisa can be reasonably quiet and I have your assurance that your father won’t have my head for it, I don’t see what harm it could do.” She gave Fleur a searching look. “She’s nice, this Luisa?”

“Yes,” Fleur said immediately. “Very.”

“Well I’ll have to meet her, then.” Constance said, sitting back in her chair. “My husband won’t be back from Neirs until next month. You can bring her here tomorrow night, if you like.”

Fleur bounced up out of her seat, and dashed around the table to kiss Constance’s cheek. “Thank you so much!”

Constance squeezed her hand, smiling. “You’re welcome.” She fixed Fleur with a steady look. “Be careful, all right? I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Fleur spun away in a whirl of skirts. Her heart felt lighter than air. “She won’t hurt me.”

Constance looked wry. “I wasn’t worried about her.”


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, Fleur sat in Constance’s kitchen, hands fisting anxiously in her skirt. She had arrived directly after her class ended, having told her father that she was spending the night at Constance’s to help with the housework, and while she’d tried to help with supper, she’d been so distracted that Constance had told her to sit down after she dropped three plates in a row. She’d been too anxious to feel hungry when her food was set before her, but Constance had made her eat anyway- “you won’t enjoy yourself if all you can hear is your stomach growling.” Fleur had blushed, but obeyed; she thought that Constance must know more about these things than she did.

She’d given them the spare room- the one that had been sitting unoccupied, since d’Artagnan had moved out to the garrison. Preparing the room had been the one thing Fleur felt she could properly concentrate on, and so she’d aired out the sheets before making the bed, stocked the table with candles, and laid flowers on the pillows. The flowers were lavender- she’d thought about asking Constance if it was possible to find orchids in the city, but decided that it was a silly question. Still, she thought Luisa might like seeing purple flowers, so she picked the brightest ones she could find, and wore her violet dress to match. She wanted so badly to look nice.

With every small sound outside the door, she jumped in her chair, until finally Constance rolled her eyes and waved a hand at her. “Go stand outside, will you? You’re making me nervous, and I don’t even have any plans for the evening.”

“I’m fine,” Fleur said. There were footsteps below the window, and she tried very hard to keep from craning her neck to look. She’d almost succeeded, too, when there was a knock at the door.

“Shall I-” Constance began, but Fleur was already out of her chair like a shot. She ran to the front hall, then paused, trying to smooth her dress and hair into perfection. She had already brushed her hair when she arrived that afternoon, going over and over it until her scalp ached and Constance took the brush away, but she couldn’t help it. Her whole body felt alight with nerves, and she didn’t know how else to relieve the tension trembling in her limbs.

Was Luisa feeling the same way?

The knock came again, and Fleur took a deep breath before opening the door. Luisa was standing on the doorstep, once again in her blue dress, a plain shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She offered Fleur a small smile. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Fleur said, trying very hard to keep a tremble out of her voice. “Can I take your shawl?”

Luisa handed it to her, and Fleur automatically folded it over one arm. “Come in, please.”

Luisa stepped in, looking around to take in the house; the plain wooden walls, the small end table next to the door. Fleur wondered what her house was like, how fine everything was. Not that Luisa would be impressed with riches but-

She was worrying about _everything_. Even the things that didn’t matter. It kept her from fretting about what was to come.

Constance had come into the hall from the kitchen, and was smiling at Luisa. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Madame,” Luisa said politely, extending her hand for Constance to shake. The older woman took it without hesitation, then gave Fleur a sly, sidelong look. “I think Fleur can show you to your room. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

This time, Fleur couldn’t prevent the blush that spread across her face and down her neck- but looking closely, Luisa seemed to be blushing too. “This way,” she murmured, taking Luisa’s hand. The feeling of their palms pressed together settled the fluttering in her stomach somewhat; they were about to do something she had never done before, but they were still Fleur and Luisa who had sat on a bench and discussed freedom and bravery for the past several weeks. She was frightened- ashamed to say so out loud- but not of her friend. Lover. They would be lovers soon, wouldn’t they? It was a hard thing to fit into her mind.

When they reached the room, she released Luisa’s hand and went immediately to the candles, lighting several so that the room- mostly the bed- was bathed in gold. Then she turned shyly to her friend, and spread her hands out. “So.”

“So,” Luisa agreed, bending to examine the lavender on the pillow. “Did you pick these out yourself?”

Fleur nodded. “I thought you might like it.”

Luisa smiled at her then, and came over to take Fleur’s hands in hers’. “You were right.” She pressed her forehead against Fleur’s, breathing softly in her face until their chests were rising and falling in tandem. “Have you ever . . . done this before?”

Fleur’s blush, which hadn’t entirely left, grew deeper. “No. Have you?”

“No,” Luisa said, shaking her head. “I didn’t have many friends in France before I met you, and none who I would consider something like this with.” She pressed her cheek to Fleur’s, and Fleur could feel her smile. “Of course, we’re rather more than friends now, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Fleur breathed. Her heartbeat was unbearably loud in her ears. Luisa leaned back, looking her up and down. “Would you like to . . . undress first? I’m afraid I don’t really know how this is done.”

Neither did Fleur; but the idea of being bared to the skin in front of Luisa, of seeing her lover equally unclothed, made her head spin. “Yes,” she whispered, and stepped backwards, fumbling with the clasps on her bodice. Eagerness and light-headedness were making her hands clumsy, rendering a task she’d performed thousands of times before suddenly difficult. She yanked at the final clasp, and the front of her bodice finally came loose, sliding over her shoulders to the floor. It only took one twist of her fingers to undo her skirt, which joined the bodice, and then she was dressed only in a thin shift that barely concealed her from the night air. She took a deep breath, then reached around to the nape of her neck and undid the tie holding her shift up, letting it slip from her shoulders and pool around her feet. It was only then that she looked up and gasped.

Luisa had undressed herself while Fleur was fumbling with her dress, and was standing bare in the middle of the room, glowing golden-brown in the candlelight. Her hair was lying over her shoulder, so there was nothing to conceal her collarbone or breasts- low and heavy, punctuated with dark brown nipples that Fleur wanted to touch, wanted to roll between her fingers and hear what noises Luisa would make when she did. Her legs were long and lean, her stomach slightly soft- she looked so good. Fleur felt the momentary instinct to cover herself, knowing she looked skinny and pallid in comparison, but Luisa was looking at her with hunger in her eyes, and Fleur realized she wanted this just as badly.

“Come here,” Luisa said, breathless, and Fleur came willingly. When she was close enough, Luisa caught her hand and pulled her closer, sliding an arm around her bare waist and holding them flush so that their breasts pressed together. Fleur grabbed her by the shoulders and hung on, gasping when their open mouths met and Luisa’s tongue pushed past her lips. It was all so much, so fast; her head was spinning. Luisa’s knee was pushing between her legs and Fleur closed her thighs around it, a low whine rising in her throat as she pressed against it. She was throbbing and hot between her legs, and she needed- she needed-

“We should go to bed,” Luisa whispered, breaking the kiss, her voice ragged. She took a step backwards, pulling Fleur with her, until her knees hit the mattress and she fell back. Fleur climbed on top of her, a knee on either side of her hips. Luisa was breathing hard, staring up at Fleur through her eyelashes. “I think this might- it would be easier if we were both lying down.”

Fleur got off her knees immediately, rolling over until she was next to Luisa on the bed, facing her. Luisa skimmed a hand down Fleur’s side, stopping to press the palm of her hand against Fleur’s hip. It felt warm and solid and good, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Fleur pressed her legs together, feeling the corresponding throb and rush of wetness, and wished she knew how to ask for more pressure. “Can you-”

Luisa silenced her with a kiss and wiggled closer, hooking her leg over Fleur’s hip. With both hands, she traced patterns on Fleur’s skin, dipping down around her breasts and just below her navel. She was teasing now, running her hands back and forth, and Fleur whined, pressing closer. Luisa chuckled, warm breath puffing against Fleur’s neck, and relented, slipping her hands down to her thighs, and then up just where Fleur wanted them. Fleur gasped, grinding down against the pressure of Luisa’s fingers where they were stroking her, and Luisa responded by pushing her thumb against a spot that nearly made Fleur scream. She slid two fingers into Fleur and crooked them up, touching a spot inside her that made white spark behind Fleur’s eyes. She made a noise that was half-yelp, half-gasp, and Luisa took the hint, pressing harder and circling with her fingertips. Fleur bucked in her arms, barely in control of her limbs, only knowing that she needed more of this, more sensation. She had never felt like this before- she’d known desire and she’d sometimes touched herself, imagining what another woman’s hands on her would feel like. But she couldn’t have imagined anything like this- not the fire coursing through her, not the heady sensation of touch, not the feeling of love that surged through her in every spot where her skin was pressed to Luisa’s. No one had told her that love felt like this. She wondered if anyone knew, if it was even possible to feel this wonderful in any circumstances other than this, with the woman she loved moving over her body and kissing her neck and breathing into her hair. Surely no one before them had felt like this. They couldn’t have.

The pressure in her belly grew stronger until finally it broke over her in waves and she cried out, thighs trembling, her face hidden in Luisa’s collarbone. Her lover guided her through it, slowing the movement of her hands so that Fleur could experience the sensation without distraction, until she finally came back to herself. She was damp all over with sweat, and she could feel the bedclothes beneath her, wet with her arousal. The sensation would have made her blush, if she wasn’t already past shame. When she was young, she’d thought of shame as a necessity; it told her when she had done wrong. After Ninon, she’d thought of it as a tool used by men to keep her from thinking for herself. Now she didn’t think of it at all.

“Fleur,” Luisa whispered, her cheeks still hot and reddened. “Fleur, can you- please, I need-” She gestured helplessly with one hand, and Fleur understood. She slid one hand around the back of Luisa’s thigh, pulling her closer, and nudged her knee in between the other girl’s legs, like Luisa had done earlier. Her right hand, she slid down to the spot on Luisa that mirrored the one she’d touched earlier; her left, she tangled in Luisa hair, pulling her forward for a deep kiss. Luisa whimpered into her mouth, rubbing down hard against her leg and fingers. Their breasts were still pressed together, nipples rubbing with the movements they were making. Fleur wanted to reach up and touch her breasts, feel the soft flesh against her hands, but there would be time for that later. They had all night. Just then, they only needed to be close.

Luisa groaned and shook against Fleur, coming apart in her arms. Fleur rocked slightly against her, murmuring phrases in Spanish Luisa had taught her- _eres bella,_ _eres preciosa._ They stayed that way for a long moment, catching their breath. One of the candles had guttered out, but the rest were still burning, casting long shadows against the walls.

“ _Te quiero_ ,” Luisa murmured against Fleur’s neck.

Fleur felt her breath catch in her chest. “ _Yo también te quiero._ ”

They had the whole night to themselves, and they spent it well, exploding the planes and folds of each other’s bodies with their mouths and hands. When they were finally too tired to move against each other anymore, they slid beneath the blankets and talked in low murmurs until they fell asleep, just as the sun was beginning to spill through the window.

* * *

 

“What are we going to do,” Luisa asked Fleur one night, “in a few years?”

They were lying in the bed in the spare room, Luisa’s head pillowed on Fleur’s collarbone. Fleur ran her fingers through Luisa’s hair. “What do you mean?”

Luisa shifted under the blankets, legs tangled with Fleur’s. “When you’re no longer taking classes and your father expects you to be married. What are you going to do? Find an agreeable old man who’ll have the good grace to die soon after and leave you enough money to live on? Or will you wed a handsome young specimen who’ll give you a passel of children and a house to run?”

Fleur shuddered. “I don’t want to wed anyone at all.” She kissed Luisa’s damp forehead, her neck. “If I do, my father will be the one to choose. My only hope is that he chooses someone agreeable.” Her forehead creased. “Preferably someone who doesn’t want a wife so much as a housekeeper.”

“Is it loyalty you’re worried about?” Luisa asked. Her chin was propped on Fleur’s shoulder, staring up at her with cloudy green eyes. “I wouldn’t be angry, if you were forced to bed your husband. We do what we must.”

Fleur propped herself up on her elbows, staring down at Luisa. “You truly wouldn’t be upset? Even if I-” A mental image came to her that made her shudder all over.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t be _upset_ ,” Luisa said, staring up at her. “I said I wouldn’t be angry. At least- not with you. Him, I’d want to run through with a butcher’s knife.” She sighed, letting her head loll back on the sheets. “But as I say, we do what we must.”

“I don’t agree.” Fleur fisted a hand in the bedsheets. “What about you? Will you remain at your aunt and uncle’s, dancing on Athénaïs’ whims until you die? You deserve a better life than that.”

Luisa’s voice sharpened slightly. “And how would I go about gaining one? I believe we’ve discussed what my prospects are in life. I won’t see freedom as long as I’m in France.”

“Constance has a friend among the musketeers like you,” Fleur said. “He told me he grew up in the Court of Miracles, and now he defends the king. There’s freedom to be found.”

“Your musketeer friend is a man,” Luisa said. “Men can find trades open to them that don’t involve washing someone else’s linens. What trades do we have? Cloth bolts or bodies, no matter which way you look at it.”

Fleur stared helplessly up at the ceiling for several long moments. As always, their conversations returned to this: their prospects were constrained by their respective lots in life. Fleur had slightly more freedom than the woman she loved, but not by much. “I wish we could run away. Find somewhere where we could build our lives without worrying about being sold into service or marriage.”

“There’s no Eden for us,” Luisa said. “There are some places better than others, some people more lucky. But we can’t find paradise on earth.”

“I don’t need paradise,” Fleur said. “Just a place to start building one.”

Luisa kissed her shoulder. “I think you could build paradise in a mud heap, if you put your mind to it. And you make me feel as though I wouldn’t mind standing knee-deep in dung building alongside you. It’s mad, what love makes us think we can do, isn’t it?”

“It’s only mad when you’re not in love,” Fleur said.

Luisa leaned up on her elbows and kissed Fleur lightly. “Then I hope we never fall out of it.”

 

* * *

 

Constance was happy to open her house to them whenever they needed it, and they took advantage of the offer often. Sometimes they went there to use the bed; sometimes they simply enjoyed the luxury of a private place where they could talk without worrying about eavesdroppers. After the first few visits, Luisa took to cleaning the bedroom and kitchen, and Fleur joined her, much to Constance’s surprise.

“You don’t need to do that,” she said to them once. “You’re guests here.”

Luisa just looked at her and shook her head. “I want to help. It makes me feel-” Her mouth quirked, without irony. “Like I have a choice in the matter.”

They still met for lessons on the street sometime, and of course they both continued to attend to their day-to-day routines. As before, Luisa couldn’t always slip away from her aunt and uncle’s house, and Fleur couldn’t always make an excuse to her father as to why she was late getting home. When they needed to get messages to each other but couldn’t meet, they passed letters through Constance’s hands. Constance accepted her new role as a courier with good grace, the way she had when Fleur first came to her and asked to use the rooms. One day, though, when Fleur came to leave a letter, she pulled her aside looking unusually serious.

“Your father came to see me yesterday,” she said in a low voice. “He wanted to know if you were seeing a boy he didn’t know about.”

Fleur felt a giggle bubble up in her throat and swallowed it. The situation was serious, but the idea was just so absurd. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that if you had a suitor, I didn’t know about it.” Constance stared at her, holding Fleur’s gaze. “But you know he’s started to suspect something. He won’t let it pass without finding out what’s happening.”

Fleur smoothed out her skirts, trying to keep her hands from trembling. “Should we go somewhere else?”

“No!” Constance grabbed her hand. “No Fleur, I don’t mean- I don’t want you to go somewhere else. I just want you to be careful.”

“I don’t know how we can be any more careful,” Fleur said. “You’re the only other person who knows. Whenever we write letters, we take them straight to you. We don’t-” She blushed slightly. “We’re always careful how we conduct ourselves when there are other people around.”

“What about the letters?” Constance asked. “Have you been destroying them after they’re read?”

Fleur squirmed, looking down at the floor. She knew she should throw the letters on the fire as soon as she read them, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. Usually they were only plans for the next meeting, but sometimes they were sweeter notes scribbled in the margins, and when Fleur pressed them to her face, she thought she could catch a phantom scent of perfume there, the smell of soap and lavender. It was a risk, keeping the letters, but she hadn’t managed to balance the risk against her desire to keep them.

“You need to burn them,” Constance said when Fleur’s silence answered her question. “Your father might find them in your room, and what then? What would he do?”

“I don’t know,” Fleur said, though she did have some idea. She’d be taken out of Madame Joubert’s classes, that was for certain. Probably he’d go to Luisa’s aunt and uncle to report her for corrupting his daughter, and then run to find a man who’d marry Fleur and repair the damage. It would be a horrible fate. And Luisa would probably suffer far worse, once her aunt and uncle found out.

“Burn them,” Constance said firmly. “Do it as soon as you get home. And if Luisa hasn’t done the same, then tell her to.” She took Fleur’s hand and squeezed it, hard. “I just want to make sure the two of you are all right.”

“I know,” Fleur said, squeezing back. “Thank you.” Luisa had been a revelation, a blessing she could never have imagined having. Constance was a blessing of a different kind- half-mother, half-sister, confidante and friend. Fleur wouldn’t repay her kindness by getting caught.

She went home from Constance’s, took the bundle of letters out from under her bed, and threw the lot of them onto the fire before she had a chance to feel the wrench. They burned quickly, blackening and curling at the edges until the words on the paper were no longer readable. Fleur sat before the fire and watched them burn until her father came in. Then she moved hastily to stir the pot over the fire, as if that had been what she was doing all along.

“Supper smells good,” her father said, setting his hat down on the table. Fleur smiled at him, keeping her eyes lowered so he didn’t see what she’d done. “What news from Madame Joubert’s?”

“Nothing new,” Fleur said truthfully. They’d spent the past week reading Eramus’ _Colloquies_ ; more interesting, at least, than Vives, but as they were still tasked with nothing more than copying it down, lessons themselves were still fairly dull. In addition, Athénaïs and her friends had been sniping at Fleur at intervals; they knew something was making her happy, and it irritated them. But Fleur’s father didn’t need to know any of that.

He came over to the fire and bent to sniff the pot. “You’ll do well feeding a family of your own, one day.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye; Fleur busied herself with stirring. “Has that scholar returned to speak to your class again?”

Fleur ducked her head so he wouldn’t see her face. “No, Father.”

He sighed. “Pity.”

Fleur held back a sigh of her own. He was only trying to help, after all.

* * *

 

She meant to speak with Luisa about burning the letters at the earliest opportunity- which was the next night, when they’d planned to meet at Constance’s- but all thoughts of the letters flew from her head when she walked in and saw Luisa sporting an angry red bruise across the left side of her face.

“Constance went to get a compress for it,” Luisa said before Fleur could respond. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Just swollen.”

Fleur dropped to her knees in front of Luisa and gently touched the side of her face that wasn’t bruised. “What happened?”

Luisa sighed. “Athénaïs went through my room.”

In a horrible moment, the thought of the letters came rushing back. “Surely that can’t have been a reason to hit you!”

“No,” Luisa reached up to press her fingers lightly against the bruise, hissing in pain. Fleur took her hand and pulled it away. “She found a ribbon that she insists I took from her drawer. She went to her father and complained that I was stealing from her and- well.” She gestured. “It could be far worse. He only hit once, and not very hard- it’s just that he was wearing his rings when he did it.” She grimaced. “Athénaïs threw a fit when he said it was done then. She wanted him to search the rest of my room to make sure I wasn’t hiding anything else. He told her he had more important things to do.”

Fleur clutched both of Luisa’s hands in hers’. “Don’t go back there tomorrow. You know she’ll search your room and find a million other things to accuse you of, and her father will hit you again. You can’t go back there.”

“It will be worse if I don’t,” Luisa said. Constance came back into the room and silently handed her a cold compress, which Luisa pressed between her face and shoulder. “I can’t leave yet. I’ll need somewhere to stay, money-”

“You can stay here,” Constance said. “Whenever you need to.”

“Thank you.” Luisa glanced up at her, then at Fleur. “But it won’t last. I’ll need to find some sort of paying job and somewhere I can lay low. If I go missing, they’ll look for me, and if they find me here, you’ll be arrested for harbouring a runaway servant. I can’t risk it.”

“You _can’t_ go back,” Fleur said, pleading. She sounded selfish, even to her own ears. Luisa was right- her aunt and uncle were awful, but there was no good alternative to their house. Who, besides Constance, would run the risk of taking in a woman who’d run away from her guardians after they accused her of theft? And what defence would she have if they caught her? But for all the logical reasons to stay, there was still a stark and brutal counterargument. When Luisa shifted the compress, her bruises gleamed red and wet in the firelight. The mental image of Luisa’s uncle- who Fleur had never met, but imagined to look like an older, male version of Athénaïs- lifting a hand to strike her again flashed across the back of Fleur’s eyelids, and she pressed her forehead against Luisa’s. “It’s only-”

“I know,” Luisa said softly, holding her hands tighter. In the background, Fleur was dimly aware of Constance walking out and softly closing the door behind her. “If our positions were reversed and someone had hurt you, I would be saying the same thing. But we’ve got to be smarter than that.” She gently disentangled one of her hands and reached to her belt. “I need you to take this for me. I hid it well enough that Athénaïs didn’t find it the first time, but there’s no guarantee she won’t look again, and harder.”

Fleur took what she was holding automatically. It was a purse, coarsely woven, that jingled in her hand. “Where did you get this?”

“I’ve been slipping coins from my uncle’s strongbox.” Luisa smiled, though the bruise rendered it a half-grimace. “When it’s only one or two at a time, he doesn’t notice. At first I was only taking it in case of emergencies, but-”

“-but you need it kept safe.” Fleur’s fingers closed tightly around the neck of the purse. “I won’t let anyone find it.”

Luisa nodded against her forehead. “It’s not an emergency yet, but now I know I have a way to escape if I have to. Whenever I take more, I’ll bring them to you for safekeeping.” She smiled. “Do you know what I’m going to do, when I have enough?”

“Tell me,” Fleur whispered.

“Well, the first thing will be to buy myself a new dress.” Fleur laughed a little in spite of herself. “And then I’ll buy myself passage to Sainte-Christophe, and land in the town where I was born. I’ll find my mother- and my grandmother, if she’s still living- and buy them a proper house to live in, where they can find good work where they don’t have to answer to any sort of master. And when we’re all settled with jobs of our own and a place to live, I’ll send for you. We’ll have our own house and we can work as seamstresses or laundresses or anything you like. We’ll fill the house with books, and you can write your own. We’ll be free.”

“It sounds beautiful,” Fleur said. She was imagining Sainte-Christophe as Luisa had described, all bright colours and warm breezes. “I wish we could go now.”

“Right now,” Luisa agreed. “Without a second thought.” She sighed. “But we can’t.” With the hand she’d disentangled from Fleur’s, she reached up and adjusted the compress. “Soon, though. There’s ten livres in there so far. It won’t be long before I have enough.”

“I can help,” Fleur said. “My father takes the money I make sewing, but he gives me some to spend. I can add it to the bag.”

Luisa kissed her forehead. “We’ll make our future together.”

“And we’ll make ourselves free,” Fleur said. “Soon.”

* * *

 

The next day in class, Fleur let one of her hairpins fall out onto Athénaïs’ chair. She didn’t look up from her books when the other girl yelped, but fought to keep a smile from her face.

The purse, as she’d promised Luisa, was hidden in her room underneath the floorboards. If her father found it, she’d tell him she’d been saving her portion of her earnings, planning to buy herself a nice necklace or brooch. He wouldn’t suspect a thing.

They still met at Constance’s house so that Luisa could give Fleur money to put in the purse, or simply escape her aunt and uncle for a few hours at a time. But after the incident with Athénaïs and the ribbon, the visits decreased, as Luisa reasoned that she would be under closer scrutiny for a while. The unfairness of it burned in Fleur’s chest, but given the choice between seeing Luisa and making sure she was safe from further harm, she bit her tongue and contented herself with seeing her once a week. It wouldn’t be for much longer, she reasoned; the purse was growing steadily fatter every day. It wouldn’t be long until Luisa had the money for passage to Sainte-Christophe, and when she did, they could begin to take steps towards leaving France for good.

Sometimes, when she was at Constance’s helping with the housework, she caught the older woman looking at her sadly. “What is it?” she asked, when she’d noticed for the third time in a single afternoon.

Constance shrugged slightly. “Nothing, really. I’m just lost in thought.” She touched the side of Fleur’s face gently. “Are you sure about going to Sainte-Christophe? You know it won’t be anything like you’re used to.”

“I know,” Fleur said. “But I won’t be alone. And I’ve always wanted to learn, haven’t I? I’ll learn a lot there.” She’d learn things she would never have heard from Madame Joubert, or even Ninon; what the world looked like to those who hadn’t been raised in France, in the shadow of the palace. What her king had done to the world, what ugly scars he’d ripped in the face of another country. It wouldn’t be pleasant. But it was better than staying in Paris with her eyes closed and ears covered. Better to know and feel guilt than remain ignorant while others bore the pain that had been caused.

“You’ll learn how to survive without your family,” Constance said, still looking serious. “Are you sure you’re ready for that? You’ve never lived anywhere but under your father’s roof.”

Fleur chewed on her lip for a long moment before she replied. “If I was getting married- say, to a merchant who travelled across the ocean, or a man who wanted to build a life in the colonies- it would be the same, wouldn’t it? I’d be alone. This way I’m choosing where to go instead of letting my father and husband choose for me. And I’ll have Luisa by my side the whole time. Isn’t it better to start a new life with someone I love instead of with someone I don’t know?”

Constance smiled at her. “You’ve grown a lot, did you know that? You hardly seem like the same girl who arrived here last year.”

“I’m the same as I ever was,” Fleur said, but she understood what Constance meant. She felt different- not in any visible way (though she sometimes wondered why everyone couldn’t see her happiness in her face) but in her mind. She’d stretched and grown so much over the past weeks, she hardly felt like the same girl who had walked into Ninon’s parlour a year ago. She didn’t imagine that girl would recognize her, if they came face-to-face. With a pang, she wondered what Therese would think if she was still alive.

Constance hugged her tightly. “I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

Fleur rested her chin on Constance’s shoulder. “I’ll miss you too.”

That afternoon when she got home, she locked her bedroom door and then dumped the contents of the purse across her bedspread. With the addition of her earnings- five sous for every job, two of which went to her- and what Luisa had managed to skim from her uncle’s strongbox, there were nearly fifteen livres in the purse. Passage on a ship headed to the colonies was five livres; with the addition of what Luisa needed to get to Le Havre and find a boat, at least seven livres of the purse’s contents were as good as spent already. That left the remaining eight for when Luisa landed and had to find food and lodgings before she sought out her family. How much did those things cost in Sainte-Christophe? Fleur didn’t know, and Luisa had forgotten.

She scooped the coins up with one hand, and put them back in the purse before re-tying the string and depositing it in its hiding place under the floor. If Luisa was stranded in Sainte-Christophe without enough money, she could easily starve before she found her mother. She had no other family there; no one would recognize her on sight. She needed something more. She needed the guarantee of safe passage that money could buy her.

She needed a plan.

Fleur could make one for her.

When her father arrived home, Fleur was waiting for him, sitting at the kitchen table with supper already served and waiting to be eaten. She’d timed it carefully, making sure the food would still be hot when he walked through the door. He liked being served this way; it reminded him of when her mother had been alive to put meals on the table for them. Sure enough, his eyes softened as he entered the room and saw her sitting at the table, in her usual spot. “Supper’s ready early?”

“I thought you would be hungry,” Fleur said politely. Under the table, she was wringing her hands. She didn’t know if this gamble would work- as low on surplus money as they usually were, her father wasn’t inclined to part with it without good reason- but she had to try.

Her father sat down and began to help himself to the breadbasket. “Is there some sort of special occasion I’ve forgotten?”

Fleur watched him eat for a moment. “Well,” she said. “I have a proposition to make.”

He paused in the midst of buttering his bread and looked at her warily. “What is it?”

“It’s my lessons,” Fleur said, smiling as sweetly as she knew how. “I’ve enjoyed them very much, and I’ve learned a lot, but I don’t feel that there’s much more for me to take from them.” It was true, though it stung somewhat; she’d fought hard for the right to keep learning. But sitting at a desk every day and copying out endless sermons and morality tales wasn’t teaching her anything. And she needed her tuition money for something better.

Her father stared at her, disbelief plain on his face. “You- you want to stop taking classes?”

“I think I should focus on my work,” she said, careful to keep her voice neutral. “I haven’t got many prospects to look forward to while I spend my time attending to books. If I return to sewing full-time and use the money to build a dowry, that would be a better use of my time, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” he said. He looked slightly dazed. Fleur pressed on. “The only thing I’d ask is that I be allowed to keep my earnings. You won’t need to pay Madame Joubert anymore, and I can use them to learn how to keep household accounts properly. That way, when I marry, I’ll have experience.” That was the biggest gamble she was making: not leaving her lessons (which, though they’d made an invaluable contribution to her life, hadn’t taught her much in themselves) but doing so with the promise of looking towards a future and a husband. She had no intention whatsoever of marrying, but while Luisa was in Sainte-Christophe and she was in Paris, she knew she’d have to come up with an excuse to not wed while she waited for Luisa to send for her. Of course, she’d also have to save up for when she would run to the harbour and board a boat, but she certainly wasn’t going to include that in her proposition.

Her father, she noted with relief, was nodding at her approvingly. “I’m glad to see you thinking practically, for a change.” She winced slightly, but let the words roll off her. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t keep your earnings, if you’re using them wisely. After all, as you’ve said, I won’t be paying your teacher and longer.”

Fleur let out a long breath. “Thank you, Father.”

Her classes ended the very next day, when she politely explained to Madame Joubert that she wouldn’t be returning. The widow fixed her with her customary sour expression. “Well, I suppose it’s only natural that you’re looking towards marriage.” She pulled Fleur’s workbook from her hands. “You won’t be needing this anymore.”

Fleur watched it go with only a slight twinge of regret. She could buy books at the marketplace and write in the ledgers her father kept at home. She didn’t need Madame Joubert’s books to learn any longer.

No one else said goodbye; she wasn’t close enough to any of them for that. As she left, she caught sight of Luisa, standing across the street in the same spot she’d stood when they’d first met. She was still holding Athénaïs’ parasol. Fleur knew she couldn’t risk going across the street to speak with her- not in public, not with people watching- but she lifted one hand slightly in a wave. Across the street, Luisa tipped the parasol in her direction, smile barely visible in the shadow it cast.

The purse grew by leaps and bounds once Fleur was earning and keeping her own money; fifteen livres, then twenty, then twenty-five. Within the fortnight, the purse was bulging, thirty-five livres enclosed inside. By Fleur’s accounting, the amount was evenly split between her and Luisa; equal contributions to their life together. And so, one cool night in late April, she carried the purse back to Constance’s house.

Luisa hadn’t arrived yet when Fleur got there, so she sat in the kitchen to wait. Constance had gone out for the night- something to do with the musketeers- but she’d left a spare key with Fleur so that she could lock the door when she left. The fire in the kitchen had gone out, but Fleur didn’t bother to light it again. Instead, she only lit the candle sitting on the mantel. She was vividly aware that she’d sat in this same place several weeks ago, waiting for Luisa, but with a much different goal in mind. So much had changed. It felt odd but she didn’t think it was a bad thing.

There was a scuffling sound, and then the noise of the door opening and closing. Fleur stood and hurried downstairs, purse still clutched tightly in her hand. Luisa was standing in the front hall, a travelling cloak flung over her shoulders, cheeks pinked with exertion. Her eyes lit up when she saw Fleur. “You’ve got the purse?”

“Here,” Fleur pressed it into Luisa’s hands. “You managed to get away safely?”

Luisa puffed out a breath, pushing her hood off. “Yes, though it was a close call. One of the valets got up to double-check that all the doors were locked just as I was leaving. I had to hide in the coatroom until he left.” She looked at Fleur seriously. “If he gets up to look again and finds the door open, he’ll raise the alarm. I need to be out of Paris before dawn.”

“You’ll be long gone by the time the sun’s up,” Fleur said. She took Luisa’s hand and squeezed it, painfully aware that this would be the last time they spoke face-to-face for what could be a year or more. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be in Le Havre, buying passage on a ship. They’ll never know where you went.”

“I hope so,” Luisa said fervently. She looked at Fleur, biting her lip. “I wish I had more time to wait with you. I don’t want this to be the last time we see each other.”

“It won’t be,” Fleur said. “Soon we’ll both be across the sea, in a house of our own. If I could go with you now, I would.”

“I wish you could,” Luisa said, squeezing her hands. “But if you and I go missing at the same time, they’ll put two and two together and pursue me for kidnapping. At least a servant going missing won’t be too much cause to raise the alarm. They can always find another maid.”

“I hope their next maid spits in their food,” Fleur said. She wished she could go through Paris and warn off any girls who thought that working for a wealthy family like Athénaïs’ would make for a good life. She wished she could give them all better prospects. But she didn’t know how.

“Their next maid will be better off,” Luisa said, as if she was reading Fleur’s thoughts. “She’ll have family in the city who’ll fight for her if they treat her badly. And once they’ve gone through a few maids who won’t put up with their cruelty, their reputation will spread and they won’t be able to hire anyone. You’ll see”

“I thought you didn’t think the world could be made new,” Fleur said.

“I don’t think it can be called a remaking,” Luisa said. “But a few months ago I also didn’t think I’d have you. Things change, don’t they?”

“For the better,” Fleur said.

She walked Luisa to the end of the street, where carriage drivers waited to pick up passengers. “Will you write to me?” she asked. “When you reach Sainte-Christophe?”

Luisa kissed her. Who cared, now, if anyone saw them? “I’ll write to you when I reach Le Havre,” she said. “And every day after that. You’ll be drowning in letters within weeks, and you’ll curse the day you asked to hear from me.”

Fleur smiled and said nothing. She kissed Luisa on the cheek one last time, then watched as her lover climbed into one of the carriages and handed several sous to the driver. “Le Havre, please. I’ll pay you double if you reach it by morning.”

The driver cracked his whip, and the carriage rattled to life across the cobblestone street. Fleur stood and waved until it turned a corner and disappeared.

* * *

 

Dear Fleur,

This will be the last letter I can mail to you until I reach Sainte-Christophe. I’m in Le Havre now, waiting for the ship to finish loading. It isn’t going to launch until tonight, so I have plenty of time. Have my aunt and uncle come knocking, demanding to know where I went? You don’t need to answer; you won’t be able to send me letters until I land and tell you where to post them. I like asking questions anyway. It makes me feel as though we’re having a proper conversation. I hope you won’t be punished for my escape.

Dear Fleur,

We left the harbour two days ago, so I won’t be able to post this until we land. No matter; I need something to occupy my time, and there’s little else here. Some of the sailors have tried to speak with me, but they seem to be doing so as a precursor to inviting me to their rooms. I’m sure you’re glad to hear that I’d rather avoid them altogether.

The wind has picked up; going out on deck means having my hair blown every which way and salt spray thrown into my eyes. I’d forgotten what it feels like to stand on the deck of a sailing ship, how it pitches and tosses. The last time I sailed, I huddled below the deck and cried. Once I managed to slip from my father’s grasp and ran for the railing, thinking I could jump overboard and swim home. The sailors caught me before I did. What a difference ten years makes.

Dear Fleur,

Another thing I’d forgotten about sea voyages is how dull they become. If you aren’t a sailor, there’s very little to do except take walks on the desk or sit below and write. I’ve taken so many walks, my legs feel as if they’re going to fall off at the knee. So writing it is. I’m not just writing letters to you- forgive me, but there’s only so much I can put in them without boring you, or myself, to tears. So I’ve also been writing about my impressions of France, to tell my mother when I find her. I don’t think she ever wanted to see France, but she’ll probably want to know how I’ve been living, what I’ve been doing. I’ve been thinking of how I’ll explain you to her. French doesn’t have a word for “woman who loves a woman” (well, no complimentary ones anyway) but neither does Spanish. We’ll have to create a new one.

I’ll tell her my father is dead, too. I think she’ll be relieved. I’m glad to be the one bringing the good news.

Dear Fleur,

I can’t be sure, but I think I can see a difference in the temperature and the colour of the ocean. I asked one of the sailors- a risky venture, but I had to ask someone- and he said that we’re probably somewhere just past the Azores Islands. I don’t know where those are, but they’re warmer than France.

The sailors mostly speak French, though there are some Dutch and Spanish among them. I’ve been practicing my Spanish privately in my cabin. Did I tell you I have a cabin of my own? It’s small and cramped, but it’s private and it’s mine. It’s where I’m sitting now, writing this letter to you. Have you been practicing your Spanish? Can you read this?

_Cada noche, sue_ _ñ_ _o contigo. Voy a llegar en mi patria en breve, y entonces te llamaré. Vamos a hacer nuestra casa, lejos de la gente que quiere mandar nuestras vidas. Quizás haremos el mundo nuevo en que crees. Siento que ahora, cualqier cosa es posible._

_Pronto, veré tu cara. Recuerdes mi cara? Recuerdo tu cara cada vez que cierro mis ojos._

_Te quiero mucho._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many MANY thanks to Christine for the beta/Spanish translation.
> 
> Luisa's final letter reads, in English:
> 
> I dream of you every night. Soon I’ll step into my homeland again, and then I’ll send for you. We’ll make a true home for ourselves there, away from anyone who would tell us what to do or who to be. Perhaps we’ll build that new world you believe in so much. I feel now like anything is possible.
> 
> I will see your face again soon. Do you remember my face well? I see yours whenever I close my eyes. 
> 
> I love you very much.

**Author's Note:**

> I've fudged some dates here- Sainte-Christophe (now known as Saint Kitts and Nevis) was originally colonized by the Spanish in 1423, and the first permanent French settlement arrived in 1625, which would make Luisa approximately five years old at the time the show is set. For the record, Luisa is eighteen in this fic, and Fleur is seventeen; it takes place roughly six months after "A Rebellious Woman."


End file.
